


Overtone

by aye_of_newt



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: F/F, Oops, Unrequited Love, Vanya doesn't know she's gay, comphet's a bitch, may or may be inspired by author's own realization that not everyone looks at girls LIKE THAT, or she's trying to ignore it, we're all gay disasters here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aye_of_newt/pseuds/aye_of_newt
Summary: Vanya admires Helen's musical talent.Really, that's all there is to it.She swears.
Relationships: Helen Cho/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Overtone

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so Vanya is super gay and is in love with Helen and we all saw that when season one aired right? 
> 
> And I'm just now finally getting around to writing about it lol. It's v short but I had the concept and said fuck it, I'll write it. So enjoy???

From her chair behind Helen, Vanya could see all of her movements in their delicate, flowing glory. She lifted her violin from its case in a single smooth motion, never fumbling to adjust her grip as she took out the bow. Helen balanced both pieces in one hand as she adjusted her sheet music an imperceivable measure, the pages already almost perfectly parallel. The notes stood out dark and black against the perfect stark white of the paper, each edge crisp and clean as if it had just rolled off the presses. 

Vanya, no matter how hard she tried, could not seem to stop tiny creases and spots of coffee from finding their way onto her music. It seemed like a perfect representation of what they each were. Helen was pristine. Vanya was… not _dirty_ , but damaged. Obviously inferior. Ordinary. 

Unaware of her spectator, Helen lifted the violin to her chin, cradling it beneath the sharp line of her jaw. Her long neck bent gracefully over it as she tapped out a few testing notes. She adjusted a single peg with a feather-light touch and tested again. The tiny sliver of her face that Vanya could see showed a small smile of contentment and satisfaction curled around her red lips. She let her violin rest, waiting for rehearsal to begin. 

So enraptured in watching her, Vanya almost missed the conductor raising his baton. She scrambled to raise her own instrument in time, fumbling it to the ready with none of Helen’s easy grace. She began to play, her mind half occupied with the first chair. 

Vanya watched Helen. She moved ever so slightly as she played, as if she couldn’t help but let her body become enraptured in the music she made. Her fingers, slender and nimble, danced across the strings in complicated and clean motions, each nuance perfectly accented. 

Vanya traced the arch of Helen’s arm as she drew her bow like Artemis hunting her prey, shooting notes through their centers, hitting the bullseye with the precision of an expert archer. 

Her dark hair, falling in a perfect straight sheet down her back, rippled like a wave as she played, hypnotizing. As she lifted her shoulder in a particularly large flourish, sending her hair drifting in the current of air she created, Vanya could swear she smelled it. The light floral perfume drifted easily through the air, skating across the rippled surface of the music.

The two sensations, sound and scent, mixed together, overwhelming Vanya. She swayed in time to the melody, in time to Helen, watching the first chair instead of her own music. But Vanya had long since memorized her part. She didn’t need her messy, stained papers. 

Vanya watched Helen and played with her heart, her fingers dancing with Helens in a strange waltz. Helen’s part lead and Vanya’s followed. They swirled around each other, Vanya always one step behind, one step below, never able to quite catch up. 

The song crescendoed and Vanya felt like she was leaving her body, tethered only to the world by the strings on her violin. By the music. By the dance. 

Helen leaned into the sweeping grandeur of the final bars, turning just enough that Vanya caught sight of her face. 

Helen’s eyes were closed lightly, her lips just slightly parted as the beauty of what she had created washed over her. Her expression was of ecstasy and peace.

The final thundering note covered the sound of Vanya’s gasp. The note rang out, hanging in the air for a precious, magical second after their fingers had stilled. That moment was an eternity in which the two violinists were the only ones on the stage. The only ones in the world. 

But the note died, far too soon after it was born. The players shifted and Helen’s expression slid back into cool professionalism as if it never had shown anything else. The conductor began to share notes, but Vanya was too far away to listen. 

She watched Helen nod and give a tiny, professional smile at the praise she undoubtedly received. 

“...decent showing, Vanya.”

“What?” she looked to the conductor, startled out of her limbo between reality and the dreamscape of playing.

The conductor looked like he already regretted what he was saying as he repeated, “I said, it was a decent showing, Vanya. Better than your usual fare. Though, try to pay attention to critiques, yes? One good performance does not exclude you from feedback.”

Vanya shrank under the scolding. “Yes. Sorry.”

The conversation moved on and Vanya’s gaze found its way back to Helen. She nearly startled when she saw the other woman was returning her stare. 

They locked eyes for a moment before Helen slowly looked her up and down. She cocked her head to the side, considering. Finally, Helen gave Vanya a nod so small it might have been missed, had the tiny twitch in the corner of her mouth not confirmed her small, grudging approval. 

Vanya felt like her soul was on fire. 

Helen turned back to the front, by all appearances forgetting Vanya’s existence once again. 

She did her best to pay better attention for the rest of rehearsal, but Vanya couldn’t help but let her attention stray back to Helen from time to time, forever enraptured by the beauty of her performance.

The warm buzzing feeling that had flooded her at Helen’s acknowledgment refused to fade, even hours later as Vanya made herself dinner alone in her small apartment. 

She clutched her warm mug of tea tight in the chill of the drafty space and thought with great controlled purpose that she admired Helen’s musical skill. 

Nothing more. 

**Author's Note:**

> So... tell me what you think?????
> 
> I love all comments and feedback if anyone is so kind as to leave them!
> 
> Love,  
> Aye of Newt


End file.
